


Let That Be A Lesson

by hafital



Category: The Fugitive (1993)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafital/pseuds/hafital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after, when it's all over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let That Be A Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rhi in Yuletide 2004. Thank you to unovis_lj for the beta.

_"Let that be a lesson to you, boys and girls. Don't ever argue with the big dog, because the big dog is always right."_

\--Deputy Marshal Samuel Gerard

~~~

Richard Kimble walked out of the Hilton Tower hotel, buffered on either side by the tall capable men of the U.S Marshals' Office, hands cuffed in front of him, blinking at the flashing lights of the media and the cold sting of the Chicago night. He could feel their strong grip just above his elbows, ushering him firmly through the sea of reporters and Chicago police to a waiting car.

"Careful with your head." Fingers on his head, guiding him, and then the door closed. He watched the man that had hunted him -- Gerard? Sam. Sammy, he'd heard one of the men call him -- walk around the car and enter from the other side.

Gerard slid into the seat next to Richard. "Let me see your hands, Doctor." Almost dazed, Richard watched Gerard reach into his pocket and take out some keys. The cuffs came off.

"Poole, where is that thing?" Someone gave Gerard an ice pack, which he punched, breaking it up. "There," he said, placing the pack on Richard's knee. A distant part of his mind registered the cold from the compress.

It couldn't exactly be called gentle. There was nothing gentle about Gerard. But it was almost caring.

"I thought you didn't care." He found himself looking into Gerard's face for the first time, really looking. Laughing dark eyes met his.

"I don't." Straight faced, and then he laughed. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" Gerard pounded the side of the car. "Let's go!"

~~~

It was slow to hit him, the realization that it was over. If he closed his eyes he could still see the one-armed man falling down the stairs of his home, the blood on his wife's face. He had trouble breathing.

He assumed he was being taken back to the police station and back into a cell. It was okay, he told himself, it wouldn't be forever. And even if it was, it didn't matter anymore. _It was over._ His hands shook a little as he adjusted the ice pack on his knee. He could sense Gerard's eyes on him -- he was a big man. He took up a lot of space, and not just in physical size. Richard kept on trying to breathe.

"Biggs, what are you doing?" Gerard's voice snapped through the car, never turning away from Richard.

"I'm driving, sir."

"You call that driving? Find me a nice patch of traffic, son. There's no rush."

"Yes, sir."

Richard stared at Gerard. "Thank you."

Gerard waved the thanks away.

~~~

The station was loud and combative -- people yelling, arguing. Gerard took Richard firmly by the elbow again, pushing through and flashing his U.S. Marshals' badge around, cutting through the noise and the people like it was his station and they would all by God obey him. The cuffs were back on and hung heavy on his wrists.

"Who's in charge here?" Gerard leaned on the counter, his posse of marshals standing at his back. He kept his hand on Richard's arm.

Blank stares answered him.

"Okay, I'll tell you what," he pointed to one officer in uniform, "_you_ get me the warden, or whoever you need to get who can get things done. And _you_," he pointed to another officer in uniform, "I want you to show me to an interrogation room. Biggs!"

"Yes, sir." The tall, mustached man stepped forward.

"Ask these nice gentlemen for use of the telephone and get me the Governor. And while you're at it, get Judge Reuben as well."

"It's 10 o'clock at night, you're never going to get him--"

"Did I ask for the time? You call up Marsha Goldberg and you tell her I want to speak to the Governor. Poole!"

Richard watched Biggs scowl and mutter, "I'm on it," before moving off, just as a diminutive black woman spoke up.

"Yeah?" The others parted so she could come up next to Gerard.

"Take the Doctor somewhere quiet and get him whatever he needs." Richard watched Gerard give Poole the keys to the cuffs. "Go on. This young man here is going to show you the way. Where's Newman?"

"I'm here, sir."

"Newman, you're with me."

Just then everyone turned as several cops came in leading Sykes and Nichols. Richard stopped and watched the man he'd called a friend and the man that murdered his wife walk past him.

"What's going to happen now?" Richard asked Gerard, eyes still on the murderers being led away.

Gerard gave him a measuring look and a cocky smile. "We prove you're innocent. Hopefully without having you go back to jail. Go with Poole. I'll be in as soon as I can."

~~~

Richard was placed in an interrogation room with green walls and frosted windows. They brought him water and vending machine food. Deputy Poole sat with him, reading a magazine and chewing gum. He looked around the room. He realized it was the same room from a year ago, the same room where they'd interrogated him on that night he would never forget. Richard flinched each time he heard the distinctive click of the room's mike being turned on and off. Behind him the door kept opening and closing and from the outside he could hear Gerard's voice yelling or making a demand.

"Is he always like this?"

Deputy Poole lifted her head. "Who? Sam? Yeah, it's his way. You got under his skin, though." She looked pointedly at him before returning her attention to her magazine, leaving Richard with no idea exactly what that last sentence of hers could have meant. He creased his forehead and then wiped at his tired eyes.

The door opened and Gerard entered. "Go get me a cup of coffee, will you, sweetheart?" Poole got up. "And I'm expecting a call from the good Doctor's lawyer. When he calls tell him to hold for a bit."

"You got it." The door closed.

Gerard sat heavily in Poole's vacated chair. He loosened his tie and looked directly at Richard. "You gave us quite the hunt, Doctor."

"You called me Richard before. Why are you doing this?"

"So I did. Richard it is, then," He flashed a broad smile and then fell silent. He played with a pen, spinning it with his fingers. Richard watched him, somewhat apprehensive still. He had no idea what to expect from this man.

"That's a good question. Why am I doing this? Not sure I have a good answer for you." He rubbed his face and sighed. "Because I can. And because," he paused, "you're a good man, Richard. You saved my life, there, at the end. You saved the life of that boy and the cop from the bus. You didn't have to do those things, but you did them anyway. That's why."

They stared at each other for a long time, and then Richard nodded. He rubbed his forehead, suddenly very tired. Every muscle ached and the stitches at his side itched and throbbed.

"You have two choices." Gerard's voice was uncommonly quiet. "I've recommended your case be reopened immediately, but even at top speed nothing is going to get done for months. All your money, your house, everything, is frozen. You're still, technically, a convicted murderer until the sentence can be officially retracted and removed from your record. Meantime, you can either stay under the protection of the state of Illinois, where I would make sure you wouldn't be put in the general population--"

"Or?"

"Or, I make them release you under my recognizance."

Richard blinked and then laughed. "You've got to be kidding. You chase me all over the city. You pointed a gun at me and _shot at me_, for chrissake. If it hadn't been for the bulletproof doors I would be dead now, and Helen's murderers would be free. You could have killed me and now you want me to go with you?"

"Yes."

Richard shook his head. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have everything taken from you? She was my life. She was _everything_." He slammed his fist down on the table and suddenly couldn't get any air. He had to get out. He couldn't do this any more.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay, deep breaths. Head between your knees." Firm hands held him still and pushed him down. Richard tried to push back, but Gerard easily kept him from moving. Slowly the feeling that his heart would explode eased and he could get air into his lungs. "Breathe, breathe. That's it. Okay, right side up now. Easy. You okay?"

Richard nodded, feeling foolish.

Gerard sat down again and looked at him. "It's over, Richard. You did something remarkable, you know that? You got them. You won. You got her killers. And yes, I would have killed you. But," Gerard shook his head, "you were smarter. Now, you have to face it, though. It's over and she's still gone. And she'll be gone tomorrow. And the next day, too."

Tears stung his eyes. He touched his mouth, forgetting that his beard was gone, but he didn't know where to put his hands. He couldn't seem to sit still in his chair.

Gerard stood up, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Think about it. I'll be right outside."

"Wait. Okay. I'll go with you."

Gerard nodded, and then left him alone.

~~~

One week later he was released into the care of the U.S. Marshals' Office. How Gerard managed it Richard wasn't sure and he didn't ask, but he was learning that Samuel Gerard always did what he wanted and never took no for an answer.

He was required to check in twice a day, in person. The first night of his release he realized he had no place to go and not much money, nor clothing -- nothing. He stood in the middle of the busy Marshals' office, undecided, kicking his brain into gear, thinking what he should do, where he could go. He thought of his friends at the hospital and shied away from calling any of them. He had no family of his own, and Helen's was out of the question. He couldn't face them yet.

He realized Gerard was watching him. "Need a place to stay?"

Straightforward, cut to the chase. "Yeah. I guess I do."

"Okay, come on. You can stay with me. Keep my cat company." He gave a rather wolfish smile. "This way they can't accuse me of not keeping an eye on you."

Sam -- he called him Sam now -- lived on the North Side in a good-sized apartment with more than one spare room. Clean, square lines, with no-nonsense solid colors --- blue, black, the occasional checked pattern. The cat took Richard by surprise.

"Her name is Molly," Sam said, as if it were perfectly normal for him to have a cat named Molly. "Make yourself at home, Doctor." The cat purred and rubbed up against Richard's legs.

A month later he was still adjusting, but he had a rhythm, a schedule that got him out of bed in the morning. This helped fill the days of the seemingly endless limbo of his life. There were court appearances and then there were court appearances, with more court appearances after that. Papers to be signed, judges to appease.

Sam was always there, testifying on his behalf. Richard got used to having Sam at his back, solid and sure. They got used to each other. Richard watched Sam at work, on those days when he hung around the office after checking in. He saw how the men and women that worked with Sam did everything he said without question. How they looked up to him, listened to him. How they trusted him with their lives.

He continued to live in Sam's apartment. He had no place else to go. Sometimes he cooked dinner and he and Sam would talk late into the night. Sam always let him talk about Helen for as long as he wanted and in turn Richard learned how much Sam loved his job, how he cared for his "kids", how scared he was sometimes that he would let them down.

"That's normal to feel that," Richard said, reassuring.

"Yeah, I suppose." Sam nodded, and then changed the subject.

Six months later they released all of Richard's property back to him. They unfroze his bank accounts and slapped him on the back, called him a free man. He celebrated by buying Molly an expensive set of cat furniture. When Sam saw it he laughed so hard he had to sit down.

One year later he made two more court appearances during the separate trials of Nichols and Sykes. He gave his testimony calmly, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. Sam was there to take him home.

That night, the night of the final last appearance and the final last document signed -- that night when it was truly, completely over and he saw the back end of Charles Nichols leave the courtroom, headed for the same place Richard had been headed over a year ago -- he got drunker than he'd ever been in his life. He never was much of a drinker, but once Sam poured the first glass of scotch Richard didn't stop until he couldn't stand, couldn't even sit straight. They were at a bar, he and Sam and a few of Sam's people. Just those who knew Richard, who had been there from the beginning, too.

"Man, look at him." That was one of Sam's men -- Cosmo Renfro. Richard looked blearily around at all the faces of the men he'd come to know as friends.

"Ah, leave him alone. Every man should get blind stinking drunk after finally seeing the man that killed his wife brought to justice. Come on, Renfro, help me get him into the car."

He was stuffed into a car and then dragged up some stairs before being dumped onto a couch. "I'll take it from here," he heard Sam say.

"Okay, Big Dog, he's all yours."

Footsteps. Richard looked up and saw Sam standing above him, coming in and out of focus. He blinked and tried to sit up.

"My, my, my, you are a mess. What am I going to do with you, Doctor?" Sam grabbed his arms and hauled him upright.

"I'm sorry," he said, dismayed that the room kept spinning. He clung to Sam.

"It's all right. Okay, upsy-daisy. One foot in front of the other."

Sam got him undressed, holding him steady the whole time. "Sam," he said, looking into those laughing dark eyes.

"Richard," Sam answered.

Richard leaned forward, resting against Sam, oblivious to his nudity. He put his forehead against the other man's shoulder. He felt hands on his head and on his back.

"Shh, shh. Okay." Sam instructed him to lie down and Richard rolled over onto his side. He felt Sam get into the bed with him, push him over so he could lie down next to him. Arms went around him and he sighed and fell asleep.

Sometime during the night he woke and turned over. Sam was there, watching him. Richard moved closer, easing into the other man's space. He placed his head against Sam's chest.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asked, even as he touched the nape of Richard's neck.

Richard nodded. It was quick, hands reaching for rough caresses. Richard lay beneath Sam and gripped him hard, thrusting into Sam's hand. He crushed his lips against the crook of Sam's neck and panted. He came in a blinding flash.

They lay side by side for several minutes with just the sound of their breathing between them. Richard took Sam's erection in his hand, rising up on one elbow. He worked it up and down, until Sam's grip on his arm tightened and he groaned and came.

There were tissues on the bedside table. Richard cleaned them up and then settled next to Sam. Arms came around him for a second time, and they both fell asleep.

A year and a half later, Richard bought a big house in Evanston. He started practicing medicine again, his old friends at the hospital finally convincing him to take his job back. He was uncertain, but once he was back in the operating room, it all fell into place. This was what he was supposed to do. This was what he was good at.

Every week or so he and Sam met for dinner or for drinks, depending on whether or not Richard was in surgery or whether Sam was off hunting down a fugitive. If they couldn't meet, they called each other. He cat-sat Molly when Sam was away. They were friends now. They bought each other Christmas gifts and went to Cubs games.

Not often, but sometimes, one or the other spent the night. Sam never said no to Richard, never turned him away, and Richard never denied Sam. But it wasn't something they indulged in often. It wasn't something they talked about. It only happened during white-knuckled anniversaries and silent birthdays.

One day Richard came home late after a long day and found Sam sitting in his living room with the lights off.

"Sam? My God, Sam, what happened?"

Sam was covered in blood, streaks of it. His clothing was torn and dirty. He had a glassy look in his eyes. He'd been crying.

"It's okay. It looks worse than it is. Most of the blood isn't mine."

"What happened?" Richard asked again. He pushed at Sam's coat, checking with his own eyes. Sam had a superficial gash to the left side of his torso.

"Newman. He wouldn't listen to me, Richard. Never did. I told him to keep close. Why didn't he listen? Don't they know I'm right? I'm always right. God."

"Come on. Let's get you fixed up. Tell me all about it."

It was a fugitive hunt gone bad, worse even than Richard's own. Richard listened as he cleaned Sam up, taking him into the bathroom and patching the wound. He took the dirty, torn clothes and tossed them into a corner.

"This guy was a monster. Cold, calculating son-of-a-bitch. He knew exactly how to play the game. We had him, though. He thought he was smarter, but they all do. We had him, Richard. But then Newman, he wouldn't listen and he ran in before I could secure the place. The guy took him and held a gun to his head, shot him before I could lift my gun and take aim. But not before I got a good look at Newman's eyes, begging me, trusting me to save him."

Richard nodded, but he didn't say anything. He took a warm washcloth and cleaned up the dried blood.

Sam fell silent and then said, "He was just a kid."

Richard nodded again. "They always are, in the end." He thought of his beautiful wife, dead nearly three years now. He lowered his eyes.

Sam touched Richard's face. They leaned in for a kiss, gentle, unlike any other contact or caress they'd shared previously. The kiss grew, until Sam held Richard's head firmly in his hands, guiding him. They broke apart.

Richard took Sam to bed. He lay on his side while Sam pushed his fingers in, stretching him. Front to back, he reached behind and brought Sam's head down to meet his. Sam kissed his shoulder and pushed in with the blunt head of his erection, making Richard gasp.

Sam was deliberately slow, pushing in and out at a steady pace. Richard met each thrust, pushing back until he groaned and came, almost silently. Sam held him, and then moved faster and faster before gripping Richard at his waist and coming hard. He shuddered and Richard turned, putting his arms around him.

"Shh, shh, it's okay." He repeated the words over and over again, the same words Sam had said to him months earlier. They fell asleep with Sam half on top of Richard, his arm flung across his chest.

In the morning Richard woke and came downstairs, finding Sam in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

Sam smiled at him. "Eggs, French toast, or pancakes? What'll it be?"

Richard poured himself a cup of coffee, then stood and inspected Sam's cooking. "I only have eggs," he said. He'd used the last of the bread yesterday morning and didn't usually keep pancake mix in the house.

"Eggs it is. Step aside, Doctor, and watch a master at work."

Richard grinned. He went and got the paper and then sat down on one of the kitchen stools. He watched Sam for a bit, thinking he looked a hell of a lot better. Richard reminded himself to check his bandage. He read the paper and sipped his coffee.

Sam took the paper right from his hands and moved it aside. He put a plate of food in front of Richard, and also a glass of orange juice.

"Eat up," he said, and then planted a rough kiss on Richard's forehead, messing up his hair before grabbing his own plate and taking the newspaper for himself.

Richard smiled. Yes, things would be fine, if not today, then soon.

~~~

the end.


End file.
